


The Second-Last Supper

by econator



Category: Formula E RPF, Motorsport RPF
Genre: Domestic Fluff, I guess I should put gender-bending here too, M/M, Mpreg, Other, Trans Character, jeandre, since I made Andre trans to make the pregnancy make sense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 11:36:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16367132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/econator/pseuds/econator
Summary: This was inspired by the testing pics of André filling out the tummy area of his race suit. I’m pretty sure Jev is a feeder, and that’s why André’s rocking the cuddly look, not the reason I made up. But some fluffy domestic Jeandré mpreg, for those who are not squicked by transman mpreg.





	The Second-Last Supper

André heaved his heavy body out of the chair as Jev chopped vegetables for their dinner in the kitchen area of their open-plan barn conversion. He waddled over, supporting his arched back with his hand. _My handsome, pregnant Papy_. Jev kissed the air in his direction. ‘Not long now.’

André huffed as he sagged onto one of the bar stools. ‘We need to buy more comfortable furniture.’

‘I remember you buying this lot. You liked the industrial styling,’ Jev said, turning around to get the eggs out the cupboard.

André groaned. ‘Jev, please no more eggs? The baby is sitting on my guts, and I haven’t shat in days. Please?’

Jev put the eggs back in the cupboard, and walked around the kitchen island to stand between André’s legs. He clasped his hands around his neck, pressing his flat abs against André’s distended belly and kissing him. André put his hands on the small of his back, pulling him closer. ‘So, spinach and tofu stir fry, with a load of flax seeds, pepper, and chili to blow it all out?’

‘No chili. I don’t want to go into labour before my caesarean appointment, and rip my cervix stitches open.’

‘You had bottom surgery twenty years ago. **Can** you still rip your stitches?’

‘I bleed out internally if we try and it goes wrong, and there’s nowhere for the blood to come out of, so we wouldn’t know until I collapsed dead on the floor.’

‘Right. Stir fry of high fibre veg coming up. No chili.’ André pouted at him expectantly as he leaned back to leave. Jev stepped in close, and kissed him.

‘I’m going to lie on the couch.’ He waddled back across the polished concrete floor as Jev poured coconut oil into the pan. ‘We need more soft rugs in here.’ André sagged awkwardly onto the sofa, putting one of the throw pillows between his knees, another behind the small of his back, and two under his head. Jev stirred the onions as he watched André shift around for a few minutes, eventually propping his belly up with the last pillow on the couch.

Jev ground some pepper into the pan, mulling over André’s comment. ‘I remember…’

André held up his finger. ‘If you tell me I wanted the house this way one more goddamn time, I’ll…I don’t know, but please don’t remind me that I decorated this house for perennial bachelors, not parents. I’m not yet ready to deal with the horrors of having a house that looks like we’re parents.’

‘Sorry I’ve been reminding you too much.’ Jev threw the garlic into the pan with the rest of the aromatics, and sweated them off. ‘We’re going to need more soft rugs to leave the baby on.’

‘I think that’s what the crib I fashioned from old bodywork is for. We can put the baby there, and it’ll be fine. Poor bastard won’t be able to climb out solo until they’re three.’

‘You fashioned? I thought you said…’

‘Don’t fucking start with me about the goddamn fact checking, Babe. I got the master at the welding shop to do it with the oxy torch. I know I’m not allowed anything fun until…’ André checked his watch. ‘Sixty-seven hours’ and thirty-six minutes’ time. Thirty-five.’

Jev poured soy sauce into the stir fry, figuring he’d stirred and fried enough. ‘You want me to bring you sushi in the hospital?’

‘Yes please. Sushi, and booze. Can you go check that my cigarettes in the go bag?’

Jev threw the cubed tofu into the pan. ‘Papy, you’ve been anticipating this for so long that you’ve put six packs in there, all in different pockets, and forgotten that you did, so put another box in somewhere else. Trust me, we don’t need to check. Your smokes are in the go bag, ready for when you’re allowed them.’

‘Cool.’

When the tofu was almost cooked, he added the vegetables. ‘Back to the soft rugs, do you think black shag pile would go with the retro industrial vibe you’ve got going on in here?’

‘You don’t feel like it’s our home? I’ve tried to make it look as Jev-y as I can without making it too cluttered.’

Jev looked around the barely furnished barn. _It would feel more like a home if it had more photos in it. Photos of us, not art shots_. ‘I don’t think “cluttered” is a danger in here, my love.’ He poured a liberal portion of seeds and a few drops of sesame oil over the stir fry. ‘Are you still off coriander leaves?’

‘Yeah. Ever since I squished that stink bug in Mexico, I haven’t been able to eat it.’

 _I remember that you went through a phase around month five when you couldn’t get enough of coriander. Said it was the food of the gods, and it reminded you of Mexico in all the best ways. Sent me out to the tiny Tesco at the petrol station to buy some at three in the morning, because you couldn’t sleep until I’d made you an anchovy, chorizo, and chili omelette with maple syrup and guacamole_. ‘Rugs. Shag pile. I found some nice organic cotton ones online.’ He stirred the food one more time, and dished up.

‘Sure. Seventies rugs. Go ahead, Papy’s little shopper.’ André looked up, raising his head off the couch. ‘Please put more lime juice and coconut sugar on mine? It smells a bit bland from here.’

He awkwardly shifted into a sitting position, reminding Jev of a tortoise stuck on its back. _He won’t be like this once he’s just nursing, right? This super-smell is just pregnancy hormones, isn’t it?_ Jev crumbled a chunk of coconut sugar over the top of André’s bowl, and spritzed it with extra lime juice. He took the food over to the sofa, handing André a bowl.

‘Cheers.’

‘For you, my love, the father of my child, anything.’

‘Food’s good. Thanks,’ André mumbled around his mouthful.


End file.
